


Hair of the Dog

by Karieauthoress (ksrandomme), ksrandomme



Series: Feeling Sorry [3]
Category: The Sentinel
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-13
Updated: 2011-04-13
Packaged: 2017-10-18 01:01:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/183255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ksrandomme/pseuds/Karieauthoress, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ksrandomme/pseuds/ksrandomme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The morning after is supposed to be filled with love, adoration, acceptance...? Hell how about a head that actually wants to stay on the neck?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hair of the Dog

Okay, it’s one thing to throw yourself a pity party when your partner slash roommate is out on stakeout. That’s one thing, but it’s entirely a different situation when you wake up and can’t remember how you got home. Even worse is when you have the mother of all headaches and you can’t even think of moving from bed to go off in search of a way to make the drums stop…

Staring at the wall across the way, the first thing I notice is that I can’t see so well. That could be attributed to my headache, I’m sure. Swallowing, I grimace at the cotton-mouthed feeling. Definitely a hangover combination. And is it dark or light? Light, barely, I decide. So I am hung-over, and lying down, without any memory of achieving this state on my own. Well, the hung-over thing, I think I remember some of that.

Jose Cuervo, you were a friend of mine… drinking you with a little salt and lime… by myself. How pathetic is that? Max must have thought I was nuts coming down there and slapping the card on the bar. Big man, gonna drink himself under the table to make himself forget something he never had in the first damn place. Okay, enough thinking, this hurts.

Guess I was more awake than I thought last night before I passed out, cause there are pills on the night table beside me, a large glass of water, and a trash can on the floor at the edge of the yellow comforter… that didn’t sound right, even in my own head… yellow? The only yellow comforter in the house is upstairs… on Jim’s bed.

Oh, no no no no no… This is not right, please do not tell me that I dragged my own sorry ass back from Derry’s last night and put myself to bed in Jim’s loft? He’s gonna kill me. And where is he, by the way. Not MY room, I hope… he’d never fit on that little full sized futon. He might be able to squeeze his head into it, but his entire body? No.

And this has me wondering what he thought when, if he came home and found me here in his bed, he was forced to sleep downstairs. So imagine my surprise when I sit up, careful Blair Baby, don’t want to throw up yet, and turn to see another body in the bed. I could NOT have brought someone home with me. I am not THAT suicidal.

No, I could not have brought someone with me. That’s just insane to even contemplate. Plus I’m still wearing my underwear. What sort of freak brings a guy home, to his partner’s home, and bed, and sleeps with him while still wearing relatively clean boxers?

Oh, and there goes my stomach, shit…

Well it was a good thing that someone, no way it could have been me at this rate, so thoughtfully placed the trashcan here by the bed, where I was sure to see it. I’m reaching for the glass of water with a shaking hand when I feel… him, has to be him, come up behind me and brush my damn curls back from my forehead. Gods that feels so much better. The other hand reaches out and grasps the water glass for me, holding it steady so I can get some water down. Nice guy this… wonder why I picked him… wonder if he will stay for breakfast… wonder what Jim will say.

“Feel any better?” Okay, that wasn’t right. That was Jim’s voice…

Right, could this morning get any worse? First I don't remember how I get home or how I ended up here in the loft part of the loft itself... but then after stressing about putting Jim out, and or freaking him out, to find out that he is in the bed *with* me? I think my stiffening up and being totally shocked in light of that revelation more than makes sense, it's a good enough reason for me for now anyway.

Yep, works just fiiiine. Here I am confused, hung over, more than a little befuddled, and in bed with my recently estranged partner and best friend… whose dick just happens to be poking me in the ASS?! What the hell? No, that can’t be what I think it is, there was no way… okay, there was. I’m out of bed like a shot.

“Gotta go man! Umm, talk to you later okay?”

Then I’m down the stairs and safe behind the french doors to my room, head whirling and heart pounding. What the hell could he be thinking?

o-O-o

I don’t think I have ever had a bed partner flee my bed since… Lila. Okay, that was unfair, the situations were totally different, never mind the people involved. Blair just freaked out, that’s all. I can deal with that in a second. Right now I have other things to deal with. The garbage pail stinks to high heaven. And it sounds like Blair has barricaded himself in his office… did I just say that? Bedroom, his bedroom… still his bedroom, damn it.

My first instinct is to march downstairs and haul his ass back out to the living room so we can talk in neutral territory. But I don’t. That would be rude and inconsiderate. Instead I take my time in dealing with the mundane. The garbage, the water glass, the aspirin bottle, the clothes that I sort of tossed willy-nilly around the room when I had tucked my partner in bed. Little things, you know? And I refused to knock on his door.

I give myself some time to shower, shave, dress, start coffee. Anything to occupy my time and keep my mind off the fact that my partner is hiding from me. Coffee brewed, I move on to juice and breakfast. A hang-over usually called for a rather high caloric breakfast feast to counteract the nausea. I don’t know why I am thinking of this, anything to keep my mind from drifting back to the problem at hand.

Just when I am about at my wits end, the door opens and I see a Blair-sized blur rush from the bedroom to the bathroom, the resounding slam of the door telling me on several levels not to intrude, be it normally or with Sentinel abilities. He has no idea that we established that little signal years ago, but it’s there.

Oh well, nothing for it but to go back upstairs and make the bed. Again with the mindless busywork to keep me from thinking that… well that Blair was not so happy to find himself in my bed this morning. Damn.

o-O-o

Oh my God! Oh my God! Oh my God! Oh my God!

I cannot believe that just… I mean I was… and he was… and we were… but we weren’t... you know? I still had clothes on, he still had… something on… So what the hell?

I mean, I could hear him out there after I… well let’s be serious, I ran… I ran like hell was open and the devil was on my heels. And I was sooooooo expecting him to say something, anything. But did he? No. Instead I heard him move around and do… stuff.

And no banging on my door demanding to know what the hell I thought I had been doing, invading his personal space, in his bed, with my shorts still firmly in place, thankfully… I guess. Shit, I don’t know anymore. My head still hurts. I know I wanted to go out there and explain, apologize, try to figure out just what the hell happened last night.

I could hear him moving around in a more or less relaxed manner. I heard the trash being removed, the glass going into the sink, the aspirin bottle being replaced in the medicine cabinet. Man, you can hear everything from that damned room sometimes, you know?

Okay, so I had to stop and think for a minute. I mean, obviously Jim was not going to kill me. That was understood from the get go when he asked if I was feeling better… like he expected me to feel bad. And just how *did* I get home last night. Let’s take the facts as I can remember them.

Last night, I went to Derry’s down the road and tried to drink myself into oblivion. I must have succeeded at some point, because I can’t remember my ass from my head right now. I remember wearing… what was I wearing? My flannel, and some jeans… okay, that’s normal. I sat in the darkest, quietest booth for about, oh I think it was an hour… so what happened?

I think I was on… what my third shot? Fourth? Gets a little hazy then. But I remember talking to myself for a while, talking to Jim, to myself… whoa… um… I was talking to myself, right?

Think Sandburg, you could do this once. Four shots of tequila should not have fucked you over this much. I was talking to myself, telling Jim how much of a sad piece of work I am… NO! I was talking to Jim. Derrick had called him. Must have seen him drive by when Jim came home early! Shit.

Okay, so obviously I had said some things to Jim, and he must have said something to me, right, wrong. Jim doesn’t talk. Jim is an action kind of guy. I remember that first hand when he literally tossed me on my ass for kissing him last week…

It was about this time that I heard Jim in the kitchen, cooking… and the smell of eggs and bacon… blech… shit, there goes my stomach again!

o-O-o

While I am working hard *not* to listen in to my partner in the bathroom, I miss his exit from said room and back to his bedroom, wearing only a towel. Right, so most likely a visit to the porcelain god, then a shower to wash the sick smell from his body. He seems not so much the worse for wear, but he does seem mighty intent on not looking at me.

Fine, I can wait. It’s only fair, after all. His entire world has just been turned upside down. When he’s dried and dressed he comes out and takes a cup of coffee. No food. Considering he just lost some of his stomach lining a minute or two ago, I can let that slide for now. Later I’ll work on getting his stomach full again. Right now I just want to work on talking to my partner again.

With his coffee, he heads for the couch, checks himself, and detours to the table. House rules… damn. Okay, I can do this. Do I sit in the living room and wait for him to come to me? Or do I come to the table and sit with him?

Kitchen. Yeah, that’s good. I’ll just… um… go clean the kitchen. And I should talk to him… Where to start? Obvious question first maybe? “How’s the head?”

That was good, really. I can talk when the need arises, but first let’s get the basic concerns out of the way. He doesn’t look at me, stares into the cup. Come on, Chief. Damn it, I’m trying here.

“Fine.”

"Ummm..."

"Jim, please, if you are going to get in touch with your inner guru... do it quieter, for my sake?"

"I thought you said your head was fine?"

"It is, just not so much when someone is channeling their newfound inner guru..."

"Oh ... okay... " Not the start I was looking for. Next question. “Feel up to eating something?”

Silence. Well an interesting sound effect and then silence actually. Shit, that must have been the wrong thing to say as Blair hunches in on himself and shades to an interesting color for his complexion. Way to go Mr. Sensitive.

“Pass.”

“Right…”That’s the best I can come up with right now. So, best to subside into silence for the time being. And usually I can do silence just fine. Just… not today.

“I was thinking of going shopping today… need anything? Shampoo, conditioner, the stuff for your algae shakes?”

Somewhere in my rambling his color changed even more… I didn't think 'Olive Complexion' meant you had a green base. I was about to say something about it when he turned to actually face me, the glare he turns on me is dark and cold. Not a face I am used to seeing on my erstwhile warm natured partner.

“Jim, do you mind?” He stood and went to rinse his cup out, holding up a hand for me to back off when I tried to take it for him. Suddenly the kitchen was too crowded and I retreated to the living room. No, I was not running, thank you very much. I was attempting to give him space. Really.

Finally, with me perched on the edge of the chair, he made his way to the sofa, the furthest one away from me, and sat down. Carefully. That head of his must feel like it’s two sizes too big for his body. I’ve been there, not a fun ride. He was planning on sleeping in with me upstairs, he downstairs, or still be in the bar, and not disturbing each other. And I sort of screwed that up. Oops.

“Jim?” Finally! He speaks without prompting!

“Yeah Chief?” I ask, careful to keep my voice modulated just low enough not to irritate his headache. Those brass gongs must really have been hurting earlier. But he seems to slowly be coming back to himself. Or as near to himself as he’s been with me in the last week.

“I…” he frowns. How have I never noticed how cute he is when he does that? He’s even cuter when he’s wearing his glasses. Did I just call my partner *cute*, even if it was just in the confines of my head? Nah, couldn’t be right… Okay, detour later, focus now. He’s clearly embarrassed about whatever it is he wants to ask. So I stop looking at him. Let him get his words together, so that when he starts again, he actually gets a whole sentence out. “I kinda don’t remember much about last night after I made it to Derry’s… Mind giving me the short version?”

Short version, like how you were drinking yourself into an early grave? How you were babbling on about being worthless, unwanted, unneeded, useless… No, just give the highlights. That’s the best thing for him right now, right?

“You were already hitting it pretty hard by the time I got there Chief, and after I got there, well..." His eyes close; I can tell a part of him really doesn't *want* to know the next part and I falter to a stop. He makes impatient 'go on' motions, but keeps his eyes closed, shielding me at least partly from what he is thinking. I sighed and continued.

"After I got there you didn't exactly slow down. You said some stuff, drank some more shots, said a few more things... passed out on the table and that's when I brought you home."

Okay, so I left out a little bit... sue me.

He doesn’t say anything to me for a minute… then two… then five… I counted. When he does say something, it’s in a near whisper and I have to turn my hearing up to catch it. “And I got into your bed… how?”

Oh… yeah… that. “I put you there.”

He took a moment to breath, his lips moving silently and I could tell that he was counting to ten… in Quechua. Yup, he was pissed. Had to be. I had screwed up. Somewhere along the line I had made a major mistake and now he was angry. It wouldn’t be long before he packed his stuff and left. I dropped my head in my hands, leaning forward and sighing as silently as I could.

“Jim… stop it… I’m not mad… just… confused.” Blair’s face had relaxed, and as I watched him I could tell he was doing his deep breathing exercises. I checked my watch, it had been about an hour since he took the pills. Maybe he could handle something to eat now. Blair noticed me and nodded when I looked up. “Just some toast please?”

I smiled, stood and went to get him something to eat. Breaking all sorts of house rules, I brought the toast, no butter, with a fresh cup of coffee into the living room on a tray that I sat next to him on the cushion. Then I retreated back to the chair. He took his time nibbling, letting things settle for a minute. I waited, letting him make the next move. I’d already screwed up enough for one lifetime, no need to add anything to the tally.

When he was finished, he leaned forward, placed the tray on the table… then reached over and patted the cushion next to him. Clearly an invitation. You could have knocked me over with a feather. I moved without hesitation to the indicated spot, sitting sideways so I could face him, one leg bent. He mirrored my pose and we sat face to face. This was better than I had hoped for in the beginning. Now maybe we could talk.

o-O-o

I couldn’t help nibbling on my lower lip as Jim settled into the seat I had offered. What the hell was I doing? This could all go so wrong. Hell the last time that we had been this close, I was trying to bring my Sentinel out of a major, no holds barred zone-out that covered everything but taste. And look where it had gotten me. So what had happened between that day and last night?

“Jim – Seriously, what the hell man?” I didn’t yell; my head was still too sensitive for that. But I made my confusion as clear as I could. “I mean, wasn’t it less than a week ago I was trying to pull you out of that zone… granted it might not have been the best way to go about it, but what choice did I have? And then you pretty much dumped me on my ass, spouted off all that shit about notches and bedposts…”

I sighed. Jim appeared to be listening to me intently now, really trying to understand my point of view. I figured in for a penny, in for a pound. “So what’s up with last night, I try to drink this last week away and you… you… I don’t know, man… what is up? Explain it to me please?”

That’s when he took a deep breath, looked me squarely in the eye and said “I was wrong.”

Was that the Hallelujah chorus? I think it was… damn… so that’s what it takes to get through to the big man… just try to kill yourself with booze and he goes all mother-hen on you and forces himself to check his feelings around… And he was wrong…? Well.

Remind me to check the calendar later; I think this is a red letter day.

Okay, all snarking aside, this is no joke. “What, exactly, were you wrong about?”

Jim smiled and said softly as he leaned towards me, "This."

And that’s when I knew I had fucked up; I hadn’t taken into account how the close proximity to my heart’s desire affected me. Frozen into immobility with shock and total surprise I was a sitting duck when he made his move. With eyes bright and a soft smile on his lips, my friend, my partner… my Sentinel, proceeded to kiss me. Really, really good…

I think I lost track of time. Really, I totally spaced on the feel of his lips, the sweet taste of his mouth, the smooth texture of his teeth… At any rate, when we finally came up for air, and make no mistake this was no one sided kiss here, I had my licks in it too… he locked eyes with me and whispered just loud enough for me to hear… “I should have told you that I love you after the first one…”

Flabbergasted… totally, irrefutably flabbergasted, that’s what I was. Flummoxed, too. Not only did he kiss me, he said he loved me. So if that’s what he had been thinking last night when he brought me home… “Jim, what did I say last night?”

He winced. Oh this one must have been a doozy… He actually dropped his eyes, wouldn’t look at me as he breathed, “You said that no-one ever wanted you. And that’s… that’s just not true, Blair.”

Ooooo, he used my first name. He was serious here. He was trying to really communicate with me. And I must have told him about all those insecurities… I remembered now. Seven shots of tequila. I had told him not to talk, that I was talking now. Shit. “Jim, I know man… I know you care about me—“

“I love you.” He interrupted. So I bit my tongue. I had my say last night; it was time to let him have his turn. “I wasn’t pushing you away because I didn’t want you… it was because I was afraid… thought you would have me, and then move on to the next conquest… I couldn’t take that from you…”

I nodded, but he wasn’t finished. “Yeah, at first I was shocked. I mean I wasn’t expecting… well not a kiss, not from you… but then I really thought about it, and I realized that I was afraid that… after you had me… you would go away… and the only way to keep you with me, was not to give you that last part of me.”

Well fuck me… ever have epiphanies? I’ve had a couple in my lifetime… never one as big as this. Jim was afraid of being alone and lonely… and could you blame him? I mean, look at his life so far? Mother, gone… Father abandoned him to his own devices… girlfriends, wife… and then there was me, the only thing that had stuck with him for four years straight. And had a history of walking away from one relationship after another.

Oh if only he knew. I mean, come on does he really think I’m like that? Hey, who was the one to turn down numerous invites from men and women, expeditions that could have change a career, threw away a promising path to academic stardom, all for one aging cop Sentinel with eyes the color of the winter sky’s in January.

Okay, so there were women… men… fun time to be had by all. But do you see me doing their laundry? Cooking their meals? Harping over their cholesterol and salt intake? I don’t think so. And remember, this goes back to when Simon and Daryl were lost in Peru. I gave up Eli Stoddard for this guy, if he would chose to remember…

But wait, maybe he did remember, and that’s why we are here, on the couch, with his hand resting on my bent knee, slowly drawing light abstract patterns on the denim clad thigh… Get a grip, Sandburg; we are supposed to be talking here.

What more is there to talk about? He loves me. He’s afraid I will leave him if he loves me. And honestly, that’s the first time that he has ever come right out and told me how he feels about having me around. It was the most he has even told me about his feelings on a subject. He just doesn’t know my feelings… can’t seem to trust his feelings and emotions based on past experience… but there is one thing he will trust.

I’ve teased him before about being a human lie-detector. Let’s test the theory. Picking up the hand he has resting on my knee, I twist it and place it over my heart. Then I look him squarely in the eye, no obfuscations, and no half truths. He matches my earnest gaze intently, his eyes piercing, his emotions playing over his face from fear, to concern, to hopeful before he shuts them down completely and concentrates. He knows what I am asking him to do.

“I love you, Jim. No one else… I have been and always will be devoted to you. No one else… I want you, always have, always will… you are mine. I truthfully want no one else. No one else holds a candle to you. I would give up anyone, do anything, go anywhere to be with you. Even if death takes you.”

His smile when he leans in to kiss me tells me that we are going to be more than okay.


End file.
